Page 127 of Stalking Ginevra

Brisket is the part of me she thought she could escape. The part I discarded when she agreed to be my wife.

And there’s no time for hesitation. I’ve already lost too much. I’m not about to lose her again.

She’s about to face Bob Brisket.

And Bob Brisket doesn’t lose.

FIFTY-EIGHT

GINEVRA

Hours later, after the waiter packed dinner to go and Mom picks me up from the casino, I’m back home, tossing essential items into a case. There’s enough here to keep me going for at least a week.

Benito will eventually want me back at the mansion or in his penthouse, but I don’t plan on following him there naked.

Our love is complicated, messy, but after tonight, I know it still exists. Benito isn’t perfect. He’s still hurt and with a wall of ice around his heart, but I’ll keep trying.

I wasn’t lying when I told him no one walks away from a lifetime of happiness. Part of him still believes in us, otherwise he would have allowed Mom and me to rot.

After zipping up my case with a sharp tug, I inhale a deep breath, brush off the remnants of doubt, and wheel it through my bedroom.

As I step into the hallway, the air feels heavy, like the weight of my past is pressing down on the back of my neck. Maybe it’s because I associate this place with deception. Maybe it’s because I no longer recognize it as home.

My footsteps creak on the fake marble floors, the sound reminding me of a ticking clock. I need to return to the suite before Benito realizes I’m missing. He’s no longer the young man I could coax into forgiveness. This version of him is colder, harsher, brittle. He’d rather snap than wrap around my fingers.

I turn the corner and almost collide with Mom. She blocks my path, her eyes dropping to my case. “Where are you going?”

My grip tightens on the handle. “Back to the hotel.”

Her expression sharpens. “To Benito Montesano?”

I stiffen. Since when did she refer to him by his full name? “Yes.”

“Why?” she asks, her voice breathy with disbelief.

“Because we’re married,” I say. “Because he still loves me. Because he’s given us a second chance.”

Mom scoffs, the sound cold and bitter. “You’re walking into a trap. Men aren’t capable of love.”

“Benito saved us from the mess Dad left behind. I want to hold up my end of our bargain.”

As much as I want to tell her about Julian’s death, my protective instincts rear up to stay quiet. She doesn’t need to know Benito helped me cover up a murder. She’d only see that as a moral failing.

Mom shakes her head and retreats down the hallway. “Men only see women as possessions, nothing more. He saved you from the sharks because he wants to do the biting.”

Her words hit like a slap because they ring with truth. Benito locked me in a concrete room on our wedding night out of spite, and I don’t believe he lost my clothes.

I stare at her back, my jaw tightening. “Hey, Mom?” When she continues walking, I add, “Don’t forget that Benito saved you from murdering Valentino Bossanova. That sort of thing can get a woman thrown into the electric chair.”

Mom continues down the stairs, her light footsteps making them groan. I wouldn’t be surprised if they weren’t infested with wood worm. I’m beginning to think they’re a reflection of her secretive personality.

Dismissing me with a wave of her hand, she mutters, “Like mother, like daughter.”

My stomach drops.

“What does that mean?” I call after her, heat rising in my chest, frustration bubbling in my gut. It isn’t like her to make cryptic remarks or passive-aggressive digs, but then she hides her true personality behind an alcoholic haze.

She doesn’t answer.

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